We left Madison early in the morning, getting caught up in the swell of rush hour before we managed to find relief on a country road moving far away from the city.

The drive made my throat ache. There's something about Wisconsin - related, I'm sure, to the fact that my mother was raised here, and how she talks about her childhood - that makes this land so incredibly beautiful to me.

We were heading toward Spring Green, where the House on the Rock was waiting for us.

House on the Rock is this bizarrely awesome tourist attraction set dead in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin. How it came to be is a sort of long, convoluted tale, but the short version is this: an eccentric man named Alex Jordon built a house in a mountain and collected things, and now, almost fifty years later, it's probably one of the coolest and most random places in the United States.

As we drove to HotR, I was practically bouncing out of my seat. Errol looked somewhat bemused every time we passed a billboard and I squealed.

We stopped a few time to take pictures - the morning overcast clouds had gone away and the sky was blue and filled with fat clouds - and I took shots of the road and the fields and the sky and barns and occasionally cows and trees and windmills. I got a shot of the Don Q Inn, where my mother used to work years and years ago. Every so often we would pass something that I recognized, and it felt like Christmas.









Around nine, we arrived at HotR. I practically skipped to the door. We bought our tickets for the complete, deluxe tour. I crossed my fingers that it was as excellent as I remember, and that Errol would like it.

Needless to say, it ROCKED SO HARD. I think what I like so much is how it feeds my love of stuff and details and pretty things and little niches and crevices and houses with lots and lots of things and rooms and decoration. There was so much stained glass and stone and hand carved wood and art and so many Tiffany lamps and antique books and random, random collectibles (crown jewels, weapons, circus figurines, doll houses, carousels, miniature ships, turn of the century bric-a-brac, calliopes, self-playing musical machines and I could go on and on and on. We just wandered around with our jaws hanging open. It took us four hours to get through the whole thing (with time for a stop for some surprisingly excellent pizza), but it was entirely, totally worth it. (Interesting side note: Part of Neil Gaimon's American Gods is set in The House on the Rock.)









Back out on Route 23, we headed back in the direction of Dodgeville and then toward Highland, where we stopped at The Summer Kitchen to see Mr. Shroeder. He's ninety years old and spry as ever. We chatted about my life and journey, and he introduced to his new puppy (a friendly lab named Echo).



From the Summer Kitchen, we headed toward Minnesota. It took us a great deal longer than we anticipated, partially because we hit some traffic along La Crosse, and partially because we kept stopping to take pictures ("WE HAVE TO STOP THERE ARE COWS!"). After La Crosse, we crossed over the Mississippi River ("TOWANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!") and headed toward Savage.

We are officially in The West.



We spent the night at my aunt and uncle's house and got to see my cousin Vanessa and her son. It was kind of weird, though - my aunt reminds me A LOT of my mom (similar voice, mannerisms, etc.), and it made me miss home a bit. But I got lots and lots of sleep last night and now I'm all refreshed and getting on the road in about six minutes.

Love you all! Take care. Next update will be from Middle of Nowhere, South Dakota.